


might get lucky

by LoversAntiquities



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Blood Drinking, Castiel Acts Like Endverse Castiel, Frottage, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Vampire Dean Winchester, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-06-01 00:46:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15131381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: Suffering from a devastating allergy to humans, Dean Winchester hasn't fed properly in years. Until, a rare find happens into Lawrence Blood Supply, completely of his own free will—an Angel. And Dean ishungry.





	might get lucky

“We got another delivery today,” Bela says the minute Dean steps in off the street, oil staining his jeans and streaked under his eye. “You didn’t even bother to look in the mirror, did you?”

Dean just rolls his eyes and wipes his face, to no avail. “Not my fault my shop’s next door,” he huffs, then looks down to his pants. The least he could’ve done was change his clothes before walking over here after his shift; at least then, the people in the waiting room wouldn’t be eyeing him with such scrutiny. Dean elects to ignore them and walks over to the counter where Bela waits, elbows atop her desk and a grin on red-painted lips. “Who’re you trying to give me this time?”

Tauntingly, Bela brushes her hair over her shoulder, exposing her neck; Dean almost gags at the sight. “You really should see a doctor about your aversion issues,” she sighs before turning to dig through a stack of clipboards. “Name’s Castiel. He’s here voluntarily, so you don’t have to worry about Benny snatching people off the street.”

“Because this is such a reputable business,” Dean mumbles to himself, taking the offered clipboard. The paper’s header reads Lawrence Blood Supply, with the client name and personal information listed underneath. Medical history, age, build, blood type—“Angel,” Dean sputters, glancing up at Bela. “You got an Angel here?”

“You bet,” Bela laughs. “As I said, he’s a willing participant. Apparently he does this for a living, hopping from city to city donating his ‘services.’ Anyway, I figured I’d give you first dibs, since you’re so hard to please. When’s the last time you’ve fed?”

Dean’s teeth itch just thinking about it. Far too long for his liking, not that he can help it in the first place. It’s not his fault that he’s allergic to _humans_. He can’t even blame it on genetics, either; with no family history, Dean has baffled every doctor he’s ever seen, men and women unable to diagnose him with anything other than a catastrophic allergy to human blood, no matter the type. The past few years, he survived solely on animal blood, namely from cows and the occasional horse, if Bela got her hands on it.

But Angel blood, and from a living body—a literal holy grail. “Is he—Do I gotta make myself presentable?” Dean asks, completely serious. Thankfully, Bela shakes her head, and Dean turns his attention back to the clipboard, looking over said Angel’s information. Castiel, no last name; currently lives in a commune outside of Lebanon, consisting of both humans and Angels; no occupation or job history, but has a history of selling his blood to make cash; cat owner; has a penchant for marijuana. “You sure this guy’s safe? I mean—Cats.”

“Oh, he’s fun,” Bela laughs. “Trust me, you’ll love him. He’s totally your type, by the way.” She leans back in her chair, arms folded behind her head. “Beautiful blue eyes, cheeks you could sharpen a knife with, total male model type.”

Really, what else would Dean expect of an Angel? Finding one on Earth was rare enough, but most of the time, just seeing one was enough to drive a person to their knees. Not out of fear, but out of praise of their beauty, of the power held in their hands.

And one of them willingly offering their blood to a vampire, no strings attached? “It just doesn’t sound right,” Dean says, shifting on his feet. “You sure he’s not here to kill me? Or any of us?”

Bela leans forward, wrists crossed on the countertop. “Just because Michael tried to hurt you last time doesn’t mean Castiel will,” she whispers with all the surety in the world. Any other time and without the laundry list of history between them, and Dean wouldn’t believe her. “I trust him, Dean. And I own this shop, so you have to believe me.”

Dean just shakes his head. If only he could shake off the worry, as well.

According to the file, Castiel is located in room three, beyond the waiting room and down a long corridor. Lawrence Blood Supply is the only feeding center in Kansas, prioritizing special cases like Dean—namely, vampires that can’t or won’t feed off of humans for one reason or another. Essentially, Bela allows Dean’s kind to feed off of monsters or to accept blood from animals. Everything obtained humanely, everything with consent. It would be paradise, if Bela could only find him a suitable food source that didn't come out of a bag.

Though, she may have something up her sleeve, this time. Dean knocks three times and twists open the doorknob, only to find a man lounging on red satin sheets—who even thought that was a good idea?—wearing only sweatpants. Where the rest of his clothes went, Dean has no clue, but regardless, he can’t stop himself from staring. Castiel looks up at him with hooded eyes, sitting up at his leisure and crossing his ankles underneath him.

Dean almost melts the moment Castiel speaks. “So you’re the one Bela was bragging about,” Castiel says with a languid grin. The corner of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles, and Dean finds himself drawn towards this man—this Angel—against his will. Maybe it’s instinct, or lust, but whatever the reason, Dean locks the door behind him and crosses the room, slipping his shoes off along the way. “You’re dirty.”

At that, Dean stops mid-step. Maybe Bela was wrong. Maybe Castiel was a neat freak after all. “I can—I can go change, if you don’t like it,” he manages, plastering on his best grin. “I just got off my shift, I didn’t think I’d—”

“It’s alright,” Castiel shushes him. He lifts a hand and beckons Dean over, patting the bedspread at his side. “It’s becoming of you. Bela’s told me so much about you.”

Dean snorts and, sitting at the foot of his bed, slips his socks off. _Won’t be needing those, hopefully._ “Hope she only said the good bits,” he says, eventually crawling up the mattress to sit near Castiel’s hip. This, Dean has never been used to, actually talking to clients. Only twice has he ever fed off of a living creature, and neither of them spoke so much as a word to him, even after it was over. Castiel though—Castiel won't shut up. “She tell you I play guitar?”

“She said you’re good with your hands,” Castiel says, stretching his legs out and leaning back on his elbows.

Dean can’t help but stare, raking his eyes over Castiel’s body, all toned abs and tight muscle trapped behind human skin. His pants sag a little, probably intentionally a size too big, hiding what has to be a runner’s physique. Bela wasn’t lying about his cheeks, either; given the chance, and Dean would spend all day just touching him, acquainting himself with the warmth radiating off Castiel’s skin, the soft give of him under Dean’s hands. And worst of all, Castiel would probably let him.

That’s what scares Dean the most, that Castiel wants this. An Angel willing to let a vampire feed off them, while getting nothing in return.

“She also said,” Castiel continues, tilting his head to the side and exposing the tanned column of his neck. Just barely, Dean feels his fangs slip free. God, it really has been too long. “That you study history at the University of Kansas. You’re a mechanic, you work next door, and you’re allergic to human blood. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Defeated, Dean nods. “You ever been… really hungry? Like, haven’t eaten for days hungry.”

“I can’t say I have,” Castiel says. Sinuously, he rises from the bed and knees his way over to Dean, settling himself at Dean’s side. A firm hand rakes through his hair, fingers catching on oil-slicked strands and just gliding through; Dean just hums with the contact, unintentionally leaning into it, into him. “You’re much too thin for your age.”

“I know,” Dean huffs. “But I just… have to deal with it. Gotta make the supply last as long as I can.”

Castiel considers him with half-lidded eyes, worming his way closer, until Dean can feel the heat on him, bleeding into Dean’s frigid skin. Castiel is so warm, so soft, and Dean wants nothing more than to pin him down and to take, to drink his fill until he can barely roll out of bed. He can’t kill the guy, can he? Can Angels even die? “I’ve… never done this before, not with an Angel,” Dean admits. “Kinda feel like I’m flying blind.”

“It’s not unlike feeding off of any other being.” With steady hands, Castiel leads Dean to the headboard and flattens himself into the bedding, head propped up on a pillow. Again, he bares his neck, running nimble fingers over the thin skin there; this time, Dean actually whines, his fangs beginning to show behind full lips. “You won’t kill me. Whatever you take, I’ll replenish within a day, and no matter how hard you bite, it won’t hurt me.”

Dean shrugs, wary, but moves to straddle Castiel anyway, one knee between Castiel’s thighs and the rest of him hanging off to the side. “Not used to someone who doesn’t complain,” he says in disbelief. Castiel just smiles and rests his hand over Dean’s hip. “Normally they just want it over with.”

“I’m not like the others,” Castiel whispers. “I’ve been told I have a… kink, of sorts.”

“What, like, you get off on letting people bite you?” Dean snorts—and to his shock, Castiel nods.

“I prefer to call it helping people,” Castiel hums. “And if I derive pleasure from this, then it can’t be all bad. After all, not that many creatures have ever seen an Angel, let alone drank their blood.”

Shaking his head, Dean lowers his head to the crook of Castiel’s throat. “Makin’ it sound like some rite of passage,” he mutters before mouthing along Castiel’s collar, up to his pulse, where it pounds heavily against his tongue. Castiel swallows under Dean’s ministrations, letting out a breath Dean can only describe as enthralled; a hand comes up to palm Dean’s shoulder, fingers dipping underneath the sleeve to hold him, to keep him steady.

“You’ll tell me if it hurts, right?” Dean asks, intentionally keeping his gaze distant. He can feel his fangs now, their serrated tips covering his teeth and teasing the edges of his lips, all from scenting Castiel. Grace and blood sing in Castiel’s veins, a heady mixture that goes straight to Dean’s head, his eyes rolling back. “I don’t… It’s been too long. Way too long.”

Gently, Castiel strokes through his hair and curls his fingers behind Dean’s ear. “You don’t have to wait any longer,” he says. “You can let go.”

All Dean ever needed was permission.

The second Dean sinks his fangs in, Castiel hisses through his teeth, his grip tightening on Dean’s hair—but he doesn’t try to push Dean away, nor does he pull away out of fear. Briefly, Dean thanks him for just lying there and allowing this, allowing Dean to drink his fill. Castiel tastes faintly of sunlight, if Dean can even call it that: pure and bright, warming him from the inside out with the first swallow. “That’s it,” Castiel murmurs, sounding oddly pleased with himself. “That’s it, Dean.”

It takes a while—maybe a few minutes, maybe an hour—but Dean’s senses begin to return, gradually resurfacing after months of wasting away: the pleasure of soft blankets and a warm body in his grasp, breath puffing against his ear. Just the simple notion of touch is enough to make him moan and dig in deeper, earning another rush of blood onto his tongue and an even louder groan from Castiel. The sheets are probably a loss, but Dean could care less, not when Castiel starts to writhe beneath him, his grip on Dean’s hair just skirting the line of pain.

“More,” Castiel begs, voice beginning to tremble.

Dean’s stomach flips pleasantly, and he takes the opportunity to relinquish his hold, only to tug his shirt off and toss it on the floor. From here, Dean can take in Castiel in full: his heaving chest and lust-bitten lips, the obvious bulge tenting the front of his sweatpants, the red staining his neck where once, Dean’s mark resided. Now, running his fingers over Castiel’s throat, he feels nothing but pristine skin, still tacky with spilt blood and spit.

Unsteadily, Castiel touches Dean’s wet lips, tracing the scarlet no doubt dying his mouth. “Beautiful,” Castiel says, breathy. “But you’re not done.”

“Right,” Dean says. He kisses Castiel’s fingers once before straddling Castiel’s hips in full, fisting the sheets on either side of his head. Castiel lifts his hips, just enough to get the point across—he really does get off on this. Lying beneath Dean is a monster unlike anything Dean has ever seen: a corrupt Angel, pursuing sins of the flesh under the guise of helping vampires.

And Dean has no intentions of complaining.

Castiel’s spine arches with Dean’s next bite, this one to the other side of his throat, fresh skin giving easily. Blood drenches Dean’s senses, and vaguely, he feels Castiel’s hands on his ass, guiding their hips together, twin erections slotting aside one another through their clothes. Part of Dean wants to know how many others Castiel has done this with, if he’s ever gone this far before—if he’s ever begged for it so hard. But for now, Castiel is yielding beneath him, is gasping heatedly in Dean’s ear, and Dean hopes he never stops.

“My wings,” Castiel mutters, delirious, just as Dean gets a hand between them to free Castiel from his pants. “Dean, I can’t—”

“C’mon.” Dean pulls back enough to speak, licking Castiel’s skin clean in the interim. God, he tastes amazing, intoxicatingly so—screw animal blood, Castiel has ruined him for everything else. “C’mon, let ‘em out. Wanna see ‘em.”

Never in his life has Dean ever met an Angel, and never before has he ever even imagined what one’s wings might look like. Looking at Castiel’s, though, he can barely even begin to comprehend their breadth. Navy blue feathers span across the bedspread and cascade onto the floor, the longest of the primaries bending up the bare walls. Each individual feather shivers with each thrust of their hips, their vibrations sounding reminiscent of chimes.

“Touch them,” Castiel says. Merely a suggestion, but one Dean follows through with without hesitation.

After that, Castiel softens even further into Dean’s hold, the initial feeding lust replaced with a level of casualness Dean has yet to experience. Dean bites at his leisure and strokes through the feathers, earning pleased hums deep from within Castiel’s chest. With a free hand, Dean reaches between them and frees their cocks; Dean hasn’t been this wet in a long time, and Castiel isn’t too far behind, either, the two of them sliding slick in his fist, their thrusts languid, verging on desperate.

Meanwhile, Castiel begins to claw at Dean’s back, nails dragging red trails every time Dean sweeps across his wings, threading his fingers into the sleek feathers. “You should be full,” Castiel says with humor. “Or do you need more?”

Maybe too fast, Dean pulls away, mouth soaked red and chin no doubt streaked with it. “More,” he pants, leaning down. Castiel meets him for a kiss before Dean can discern what he’s doing, chasing his own blood in Dean’s mouth, uncaring of his now-retreating fangs and the filth of it all. That alone sets Dean off faster than he intended, moaning into Castiel’s cheek as he comes into his fist and onto Castiel’s cock.

After that, Dean doesn’t remember much; maybe a few more kisses, maybe Castiel’s come soaking his grip, but what he does know is that after months of starving, he’s finally sated. Dean flops onto the bed—or, what feels like the bed but is mostly Castiel—and futilely wipes the blood from his mouth with his come-soaked hand, much to Castiel’s amusement. “Shut up,” Dean joshes, smiling with stained teeth, just the barest hints of his fangs visible. “You taste like summer.”

“I’ve been told,” Castiel chuckles. Somehow in Dean’s languor, Castiel rolls him onto his side and drapes an arm around Dean’s stomach, away from the mess they’ve made of the sheets. “I’ve never done that before, honestly.”

That perks Dean’s ears; if he were more cognizant of his own body, he might’ve even turned over, just to see the look in Castiel’s eyes. “What, sex? ‘Cause I know you’ve been around the block with…” He stops to wave his hand. “This.”

Instead of answering, Castiel just snuggles closer, dovetailing their legs together. Not that Dean is complaining, either, aside from Castiel’s soft cock pressing up against the small of his back. A single wing drapes over them, the feathers keeping Dean pleasantly warm while they rest, while Dean comes down from his blood-fueled high. “I’ve never met anyone who felt like you do,” Castiel admits. “You were kind, gentle, even as deprived as you were. Plus, you’re not exactly unattractive.”

Dean snorts, hiding his face in the shadow of Castiel’s wing. “You don’t even know me,” he sighs. He covers Castiel’s hand regardless, uncaring of just how stained it is, come beginning to dry between his fingers. “And I think I just drank half your body weight.”

“I didn’t mind,” Castiel laughs. “Did you enjoy it, though?”

That, Dean can’t even deny. “Maybe too much.” A pause. “You wanna—Can we see each other like… outside of here? Just seems kinda impersonal, y’know, with the whole…”

Castiel presses a kiss to Dean’s nape, smiling. Out of everything they just did, that alone makes Dean flush. “I’m planning on moving to Lawrence, actually. I’d appreciate if someone could show me around from time to time.”

Dean just grins and drags Castiel’s hand to his mouth, kissing the tips of his fingers. “First off, there’s a great auto body next door, and I hear the head mechanic is a total hunk.”

He can’t help the smile that Castiel’s soft laughter creates, along with his company. Somehow, he thinks they’ll get along just fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I was stalled on things to write lately and this popped into my head after a few weeks of nothing, along with another canon piece I'm working on. So here's one fic, and hopefully a second one will come soon! Also I listened to Mai Lan on repeat while writing this.
> 
> Title is from the Darius Rucker song. 
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
